


Eight Years Later: A Finale Bonus

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: How (thanks to Gabriel)... [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: Just a sliver of their lives, many years later.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Series: How (thanks to Gabriel)... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020612
Comments: 68
Kudos: 480





	Eight Years Later: A Finale Bonus

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this hours before the Supernatural series finale. I finished How Thanks nearly eight years ago and stopped writing in the fandom only eighteen months after that, but some of it stayed with me. To everyone who read How Thanks and left kind comments and bookmarks over the years, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I have read and cherished every one of them. 
> 
> This is my thank you and my fond farewell to a messy show that made me feel a lot things even long after I thought I'd stopped caring. It's not much, but it's the family business.

The Impala’s engine made soft ticking noises as Dean took the key out of the ignition. He’d been on the road for hours and his back hurt. He draped his arms over the steering wheel, resting his head there for just a moment, inhaling the road trip staleness.

The house always looked smaller when he got back from the vast expanses of lonely interstates. It was just one modest home on a street of many. Unremarkable, if well kept. He’d redone the front porch himself last year. Hanging the swinging love seat had been the hardest part, but it had been the only amendment Cas had asked for. 

He pushed himself up and out, ignoring the ominous crack of his left knee. It never had healed right after a bad encounter with a crowbar. Pocketing the keys, he headed up the front path. It was warm enough now that the garden was well underway. The dark patches of earth he’d left behind were now full of sprouts and buds. 

The steps didn’t so much as creak as he went up them, one hand trailing against the railing that he’d carefully sanded to perfect smoothness. Getting closer, he could see the thick wards on the doors inlaid with silver, gold, and bone. The key slid into the lock, a series of tumblers knocking inside as he opened it. A frisson of magic tickled over his skin as he stepped inside and sat down on the bench to pry off his boots. They went down next to an equally battered pair of running shoes. 

Something was in the oven, the thick smell of butter and bread reaching the hall. He followed it into the kitchen. 

Cas was leaning against the sink, swathed in one of his oversized sweaters. The ends of the sleeves enveloped his hands almost hiding the mug held between them. As soon as Dean was in line of sight, Cas’ eyes were on him. 

“Hey,” Dean crossed the distance between them. Cas set down his mug and opened his arms. 

They slid together like puzzle pieces and Dean let out a breath he’d been holding since he’d left. They didn’t talk, just stood together, swaying slightly. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said eventually, pulling back enough for a kiss. 

They’d spoken every night while he was away. Short check-ins for the most part. Assurances. Sometimes longer like the night Cas had rediscovered tardigrades on some nature special and explained them in exacting detail while Dean lay in the dark on a motel bed with his eyes closed, just listening. 

None of it was as good as this. 

“What’s cookin’?” he asked when they parted a little at last. 

“Pie dinner.” Which meant chicken pot pie handmade then frozen from the farm stand Cas liked with an apple pie to follow. He never had learned to cook, but he was great at outsourcing. 

Dean laughed, kissed the corner of Cas’ mouth, “You’re the best. Been looking forward to-”

“Cas!” Sam shouted from the backdoor, the screen door slamming closed. “Have you seen Mary’s blanket?” 

“Shit,” Dean plonked his forehead down to Cas’ shoulder. Cas pat his back. 

“Dee!” Tiny arms wrapped around his leg and then he had to lean down and pick up a slightly sticky little girl. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he settled her on his hip. “Did you grow another inch while I was away?” 

“Uh huh,” she grinned at him, patting his cheek with one hand. 

“Hey,” Sam made it into the kitchen, her blanket in one hand, “didn’t know you were back today.” 

“The collective is doing just fine,” he shrugged. 

“They told you to stop micromanaging, huh?” Sam guessed. 

“Shut up,” he said mildly. “What did you do to our girl’s hair, huh? What is this?” 

“I tried to follow one of those braiding videos you use, but it’s impossible,” he groused. 

“Want Uncle Dean to get you sorted out?” Dean bounced her and she laughed. 

Something upstairs crashed and a muffled swear filtered in through the ceiling. 

“Adam came by yesterday,” Cas looked up. “He asked to stay a few days.”

“Of course he did,” Dean plopped Mary into her high chair. In theory, she and Sam (Gabriel too most of the time though he refused to be called anything like father) lived next door in a house that had become mysteriously available a few days after Mary’s quasi-legal adoption. “He and Dad have another brawl?” 

“No. I think this was more a regular argument, but I suspect that they’ll be hunting separately.” 

“He should just move into the commune. He’d have a blast with Jo.” 

“Please tell him that again,” Sam groaned and fell into a chair at the table. “You know how it went over last time.” 

Dean got Mary’s hair sorted out while Cas pulled out dinner. He’d put in three pot pies because he was a genius. Adam thundered downstairs eventually and took his serving will ill-grace. 

Gabriel popped into existence right before dessert, landing a kiss on Mary’s forehead. 

“Candy?” she asked hopefully. 

“Gabe,” Sam warned. 

“What?” he produced a lollipop, “It’s organic and everything.” 

The doorbell went off. And off. And off. 

“Dad,” Sam and Adam said simultaneously with the same level of exasperation. They both slumped deeper in their chairs. 

“I’ll get it,” Dean heaved himself up. “Lazy assholes.” 

He undid the wards to find John and Bobby. 

“Hey, son,” John breezed past him, already re-starting whatever argument he was having with Adam at volume. 

“Dean,” Bobby clapped him on the arm, “he had a head of steam so I figured I’d hitch a ride.” 

“S’fine, you want something to eat?” 

“Please.” 

Sam had gotten into whatever the argument was, so Dean quietly lifted Mary out of her high chair and beat feet to the living room after serving a slice of pot pie to Bobby. Her current favorite game was You Make a Tower, I Knock It Over, so they passed a giggling half-hour that way. 

Eventually the ruckus went down to a dull roar and Sam came in looking for them both, sitting down on the floor besides his daughter. 

“Da,” she said knowingly. 

“How’s the war going?” Dean put another block on the tower. She usually let him get to six and this was five. 

“They’re going to split for awhile,” Sam rolled a block between his palms. “Gabe is going to go with Adam for a bit.” 

“Oh,” Dean put on the sixth block. “You good with that?” 

“Boom!” she pushed the blocks, laughing. 

“I know the score.” 

“Not the same thing.” 

“He’ll be back,” he put the block down, a fresh start. Dean laid another one on top of it. “It makes him easier to live with him when he can stretch his wings a little anyway.” 

“I can take her when you need a break. There’s nothing brewing.” 

“Thanks, I’m teaching on Thursday mornings. Cas said he could help out, but she gets sneezy at the shop.” 

“What do you think, baby girl?” Dean set another block down. “Me and you with a standing Thursday date?” 

“Dee,” she agreed. 

“Damn right.” 

The house groaned at the seams that night. Bobby in the guest room, John on the pull out couch in the living room, and Adam upstairs in Sam’s old apartment. It took a few laps around with blankets and clean sheets to get everyone where they belonged and by the end, Dean got to their bedroom and face-planted fully clothed onto the mattress. 

“Kill me,” he mumbled. 

“That seems counterproductive,” Cas was sitting up in his pajamas, book in his lap. He’d probably been there most of the night, vacating at the sound of John’s voice. “Considering how long I’ve spent keeping you alive.” 

“I’m so sorry, Cas. I rushed home for tonight and then it’s just a circus,” he sat up enough to look at him. The glow of the lamplight was gentle on his face. He smiled more these days, his eyes crinkling. Age was starting to come for the timeless at last, but it looked good on him. “I really wanted it to be nice.” 

“It’s just life. It seems fitting,” a bookmark went neatly in and the book gently placed on the side table. “Take off your coat, at least.” 

Dean obeyed. Once it was off, it seemed easier to shuck off his jeans and shirts. He climbed into bed, pressing up against Cas, leaning in to kiss his shoulder. 

“Happy anniversary,” he mumbled. “Next year, we’ll go wherever the hell you want, okay? As long as it's far enough away that none of them can find us.” 

“Okay,” Cas cupped his neck, squeezing gently until Dean groaned and closed his eyes. "I'd like that."

The window was cracked, a breeze carrying the green smells of the garden and the hum of insects. Dean would probably be out there tomorrow, mowing or just in the hammock. Maybe he could convince Cas to come home early so they could lay out in the sun together. Everyone else would be busy with their own lives again by then. 

“Hey, Cas?” 

“Yes, Dean?” a shift on the mattress and the room was plunged into darkness. 

“I’d marry you again if I could,” it sounded silly, but in that moment, he just wanted Cas to know it. To feel it like he felt it.

“You do, all the time,” Cas poked him until he rolled over and Cas could drape himself over his back like they did almost every night. “Getting married wasn’t something we did, it’s something we do together all the time.” 

“Sappy,” he muttered, sleep already coming for him despite his best intentions. 

“It’s our anniversary, I’m entitled.” 

He said something vague, something like ‘good night’ or ‘I love you’, before falling asleep. Safe in knowledge that they would wake the next morning to more chaos. More family. More life.


End file.
